


come back, be here

by thedevil_andgod



Series: Irresistible [2]
Category: Jurassic World - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Past Infidelity, Raptor Squad, Reader Insert, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:20:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9535607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevil_andgod/pseuds/thedevil_andgod
Summary: this is when the feeling sinks in, i don't wanna miss you like this





	1. strange that i don't know you

**Author's Note:**

> this has been a long time coming. hope it's worth the wait. 
> 
> apologies for any mistakes/errors, it is currently 01:15AM.

'It doesn't fit!' I screech, panic like a rising tidal wave threatening to crash over and drown me. 'I'm getting married in two hours and my dress doesn't fit!'

In the mirror, I watch Laila's lips purse. 'It'll be fine, love,' she soothes, her hand on my back. 'Nothing a few safety pins can't fix.' The spaghetti straps slip off my shoulders, the mass of silk falling to my feet. 'I ate so much junk food on that work trip,' I moan, knowing there's no one to blame here but myself. Another look in the mirror, and I think, _well, at least I have a good tan._

Laying down on the bed, Laila fusses - ' ** _mind your makeup!_** ' - I stare at the ceiling. 'My wedding day is ruined,' I declare, and I don't have to see my maid of honor to know that she rolls her eyes. 'Stop being overdramatic. I'm going to fix this, okay? Wait here.' I watch as she exits, the (y/f/c) dress cinched at her waist, billowing free down her strong legs. She looks graceful, silky hair pinned into a smooth knot, several loose strands artfully arranged to fall around her temples. 'Maybe Tom will want to marry you instead,' I mutter, but the door is closing, and I am alone.

It's a dangerous thing, to leave me with only my thoughts for company. All too frequently they drift to green eyes and a sweet smile, strong arms and the scrape of stubble against my cheek in the early morning. A lump forms in my throat, tears pricking my eyes. I swallow, harsh, willing them away.

_You made your choice, (Y/N)._

I was so sure leaving Costa Rica was the right thing to do. It felt right at the time, at least. As much as I had ached to stay by Owen's side - even his name strikes like a dagger to an old wound - something inside drew me back to my old life. Ever since I returned, everything and everyone has seemed so... different. Not in any way I can describe, or pin down, frustratingly. Just noticable enough to make me feel like an outsider, a piece of jigsaw being forced into the wrong space. Even my family, Tom, I can't connect to them the way I did before. I've spent the past week curled up beside someone who feels more like a stranger, though we've shared our lives for two years now. Everything feels off, off-kilter, off-balance. Desperate attempts to settle back in have been in vain, and now it's my wedding day and I thought it was supposed to be the happiest day of my life - so why am I so miserable my stomach hurts with the intensity of it?

A knock on the door startles me. I grab at the soft white robe provided by the manor house - Tom's family has rented out a goddamn manor house to welcome me into their family - and slip it on over my underwear. I inch toward the door. 'It's me, (Y/N). Forgot the key,' I sigh, shoulders relaxing. It's only Laila, but there's an urgent tone to her voice that sets me on edge. Or, maybe I'm just being paranoid.

When I open the door, I smile at her, moving aside to let her in. Over her shoulder, a familiar face. My blood freezes over and the smile gets stuck on my lips. Laila eyes me sternly. 'Someone wants to speak with you,' she communicates with me via facial expressions.

_Do you want me to get rid of her?_

Oh, god, yes. I do. I want her to push her away and get her into a cab going fifty thousand miles away from here - I'd pay the fare if it meant I didn't have to face her. But Claire Dearing's face is set like concrete, frown lines etched deep into her forehead. So, I pull up my damn socks and let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding.

 

'Miss Dearing. What a pleasant surprise, do come in,' Laila stares, dumbfounded. I have a lot of explaining to do.


	2. if i had known what i know now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the feeling you can know so much, without knowing anything at all..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes, unbeta'd and unedited. 
> 
> // work title, chapter title & summary from taylor swift's 'come back, be here' //

The room is silent, suffocating. Claire looks every bit the formidable business woman she's always been, white pant-suit pressed to perfection, bright hair groomed smoothly. Manicured fingernails tap at her palms; the only sign of nervousness she shows. 

'So,' I clear my throat, wincing at the pitch of my voice, 'Can I offer you a glass of champagne?'  
Laila is staring, arms folded over. She doesn't know what's going on, she doesn't understand, and she doesn't like it. Claire shakes her head. 'I'm not stopping. I just need to speak with you.' Her eyes slide to my best friend, who meets the other woman's gaze expectantly. Claire redirects her gaze to me, coughing quietly. 'Alone.' 

Laila snorts, and shakes her head. My stomach cramps up - do I let her stay, or make her go? 

'Laila, can you check and see if the quartet has arrived, please?' I ask, receiving a look of utter disbelief in response. Feeling lost, I meet her gaze. 'Please,' a repeated plea, quieter this time, more desperate. She scrutinises my face intently for a few seconds. 'I won't be long,' she warns, directing the warning at both myself and Claire. 'Thank you,' I murmur as she passes. 

Claire relaxes visibly when Laila is gone. Her hands cease the fidgeting, and she stands a little straighter. 'You need to come back to Costa Rica.' She states, formal, matter-of-fact. When I don't say anything, she presses forward. 'Firstly, we have a new opening for a triceratops handler, and from your work with the raptors we think you are the best person for the job. Secondly, you need to sort things out with Owen.' 

His name hits like a hammer to the chest; 'I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid right now isn't the best time for making decisions like this.' Gesturing to the dress, still in a silk puddle on the floor, 'I'm getting married today.' Somehow, I manage to uphold the facade of gracious bride-to-be. 

A crease appears in Claire's brow. 'I don't think so.'  
Indignation sparks against my ribs like matches. 'Excuse me?' 

'Why are you marrying someone you're not in love with? When the man you do love is waiting for you?' 

Breathing deeply, I do my best to contain myself. 'I'm going to have to ask you to leave, please.' 

Claire sighs, shaking her head. '(Y/N), Owen is in danger of losing his job.' Her revelation is a kick to the gut - what? She sees the shock on my face and shrugs. 'Do you know how many raptor trainers are out there? None. Only him. Without a trainer, the raptors become a liability... and will be dealt with as such.' Her words sink with heavy meaning in my mind, as I think back to the four dinos that had made themselves a home in my heart over the course of my short time at the enclosure. 'But... but, why?' 

'Mr. Grady has been acting irresponsible - more so than usual,' she adds before I protest. 'He has become reckless, showing up to work late and stinking of alcohol, refuses to attend mandatory employee meetings and acts in a hostile manner towards all guests and workers. Quite frankly, (Y/N), it's a wonder he hasn't been fired already.' 

There's a moment, when you first jump into a swimming pool, or the ocean, where your body seems to go into shock. It lasts less than a second, but it's painful in a way no one could describe. The cold water locks your joints in place, stabs like needles into your skin, wipes your mind clean of any conscious thought. This is how I feel as Claire describes Owen's recent behaviour - is it because of me? The answer is clear on her face, without my having to ask. 

'Ms. Dearing...,' I begin, my voice unsteady. 'With all due respect, Owen's behaviour is not my responsibility.' He's a grown man, he should be more mature than this, I argue inwardly. But inside, the icy hand of guilt and pain grips its frigid fingers tight around my heart. Claire seems to notice the shift in emotion; her face softens by a degree. 

'I know, but this is ridiculous, (Y/N). You are marrying someone with whom you are not in love with. It isn't fair on anyone involved. You, your fiancé, or Owen.' I know she's right, but it's all too little, too late right now. A few floors below me, months of painstaking planning is coming together, guests arriving and taking in the view. Sipping at glass flutes of bubbly liquid and nibbling away at canapés served by men and women in black and white suits. The string quartet must be warming up their instruments in the chapel by now; the priest preparing to anoint the union of two lives officially. Only a few doors away, Tom. Buttoning up his dress shirt, knotting the (y/f/c) tie around his neck, walking with his groomsmen to the altar where he will be waiting for me, all too soon. My mother, my father, mentally steeling himself to walk his little girl down the aisle. Tom's parents, dressed to the nines, relatives from far and wide flown in for this. How can I take this image of what should be the perfect day and shatter it with my own hands? To walk away now means to break Tom's heart. 

'You can't live a lie, (Y/N),' is the last thing Claire tells me in a bid to convince me to do what I know is right. Then, she informs me that she'll be flying back out to Costa Rica tomorrow afternoon, and if I want her to book me a flight, call her. She leaves her number, on white card printed brown and blue, on a dresser, and then, she leaves. 

A hand catches the door before it swings shut - Laila, dark eyes flashing. 'So, are you going to tell me what that was about? Or will we play a guessing game?' 

I collapse onto the edge of the bed, head in my hands. I hear her sighing, and the click of the door as it closes. The mattress dips as she settles next to me, and I lift my head, staring off into space. 'That was... that was one of my bosses from Costa Rica.' I'm met with an expectant silence, and I resign myself to spilling the entire sorry tale in a rush of words and breath. 

By the time I reach the end, I'm forcing back tears - my make up took over an hour earlier this morning. I can cry later, when I won't be wasting mascara. Laila lets out a low whistle; 'Damn, (Y/N). I knew something was up, when you got back - I thought you were just... I don't know, adjusting.'

I give her a weak smile. 'Yeah, well. Now you know. I'm - I'm a dirty cheater,' I mutter, the realisation hitting me fully for the first time since it all happened. 

She grimaces sympathetically. 'Why did you come back?' Her voice is soft, curious. Absurdly, I begin to laugh; 'I have no fucking idea, La. I - I'm getting married in an hour, and I don't - I don't know anything,' I giggle uncontrollably; my stomach hurts and my thoughts are swimming. Concern colours Laila's features and she looks away, thinking. 

'What if you didn't marry him?' She asks, so quiet I have to get her to repeat herself. For a moment, I just stare. 'Laila, everyone is here,' I remind her. 'The ceremony is due to start at twelve. It's now -' I glance at my wrist without thinking, but it's bare, and my phone is .... somewhere under the mess in this room. Laila slides her own cell from her bra - winking when I give her a look - and checks the time. 'It's 10.53AM.'

'Fuck,' I whisper, feeling control over my world rapidly spinning out of my hands. 

'I know it's a bit of a mess, but... you're not happy, I can see it now. You love this Owen guy - you shouldn't marry Tom out of obligation.' 

A knock on the door disrupts the moment, and I panic. Has someone been listening in?

'(Y/N)? It's only me,' comes the cheerful voice of Tom's best man, and my heart sinks further down. 'I'll get rid of him,' Laila whispers and jumps up, but I stop her, shaking my head. 'Let me talk to him.' 'Are you sure?' I nod, checking that my robe is stilled tied tight. Taking a deep breath, I find a smile somewhere and do my best to keep it on as I open the door. 

The best man looks handsome as ever, dark suit with the (y/f/c) tie to match the bridesmaids. His eyes widen at the sight of me, only half-ready, but he clears his throat and grins. 'How is the bride to be?' 

'Busy,' I say, giving him a pointed look. He chuckles; 'Sorry, sorry - Tom wanted to make sure you hadn't done a runner, and, well. Couldn't risk him seeing you in the dress, right?' His eyes flicker down to the robe again, and something shifts in his face, almost imperceptibly, and completely indescribable. He meets my gaze and chuckles again, but there's a nervousness there now and it makes me uneasy. 'So. No runaway bride.' 

I shake my head, struggling to breathe around the lump forming in my throat. It's made of guilt and panic and spikes of heartache, but it's not like I don't deserve it. 'Tell him I'll see him at the altar,' I finally manage to choke out, and he nods once, seemingly satisfied. 

When I close the door, I press my back against it, suddenly scarily calm, but tense. Every joint feels like it's wound up like a spring about to burst out - Laila folds her arms. 'See him at the altar,' she echoes. 'So this is happening?'

My gaze drifts to the pile of silk on the floor by the mirror, then to my best friend, expression unreadable. I don't think - thinking put me in this situation and now, I just stop thinking completely. 

'You got those safety pins, right?'


	3. falling for you when you are worlds away

The island hasn't changed much in the time I've been away. It's still beautiful, with intense blue skies and emerald green trees, still warm and inviting and exciting.

The park is closing up. I pass by different attractions, listening for the noises of different dinosaurs as they settle down for the evening. Various workers walk by, some I recognise, some I don't. I wave to either kind, smiling politely. Each step I take leads me closer to the one place I know better than the rest of the park; I walk slow, taking my time, steeling myself for this confrontation.

The sun is low in the sky, only a few inches separating it from the horizon, casting tall shadows across the dusty path. The entire place feels so familiar, and for the first time in eighy weeks, I feel like I can breathe again. The raptor paddock comes into sight, inch by inch. A lone motorcycle is parked outside - Barry is gone, leaving only the raptor's legendary trainer. Owen Grady. His name alone is enough to send a shiver down my spine, and I pause momentarily. Taking a few steadying breaths, I continue on, willing my legs to stop shaking. They pay no heed and I stumble, shakily, a few times on my way up.

Seeing him again, feels like all oxygen being knocked from my lungs. His back to me, broad shoulders slumped as he pats Blue's snout through her muzzle. The raptor in question let out a low whine, almost concerned. The other three are nowhere to be seen - sleeping, most likely, somewhere amongst the leafy fronds of foliage planted across the interior of their pen. I can only stand and stare as Owen carefully manoeuvres the beta out of the muzzle and into the pen. Leaning against the cage, he watches as she disappears into the dusk, me watching him, him still entirely unaware of my presence. He turns, then, eyes fixed to the ground. My chest tightens.

_This is it._

Rubbing at his mud-covered palms with an off-white rag, he glances up, looks back down - and freezes. Unbearably slow, he lifts his head. A few feet from him, I stand, still, unsure now of what to do or say, or if I should do or say anything. A muscle in the side of his jaw jumps, entire face tightening, lips pressing into a harsh line. A heavy silence stretches out, seemingly unbreakable. There's so much I had planned to say to him, yet now there are no words. He looks tired; purple half-moons stamped beneath each eye, usually a bright green-brown, now dull, his plump, pale lips chapped and slightly bloodied. The effect of my leaving on him hits like an armoured truck, sending me reeling, guilt rushing in like a school of pirahna fish, nipping at my skin and burning.

The small 'Hello,' I manage to get out could almost be comical, if the tension between us hadn't been so tangible it could have been cut with a butter knife. Owen breaks, a bitter scoff escaping. It might have been better than nothing, had he not turned his face away from me.

'Really? That's all you got?'

His words are full to the brim with a barely-restrained anger, the hurt so evident it feels like a bruise just to hear them. Risking a few steps closer, I shrug, struggling to form something, anything, to say.

'Blue looks good.'

He doesn't look up. Takes large strides towards his office, never once turning back. The door slams loudly; it startles me, and Blue comes rushing into view, all teeth and snarls. She creeps closer to the edge of the pen, head tilting to the side. I can't tear my eyes off hers - wide and dark and staring straight at me. It's a scary moment, though there's metal bars betwen us, I'm half afraid the beta will tear through them to get to me, to the one who hurt her Alpha.

Obviously, that doesn't happen. Instead, she backs away, but her eyes don't leave me until she's out of sight. Exhaling shakily, I roll my shoulders back, determind to make Owen listen to me. If I can figure out what to say, that is. Not bothering to knock, I open the office door, unable to help the low curse that escapes when I take in the state of the small room.

It was never the tidiest of places, in fairness, but now? It could be mistaken for a bomb site. Paperwork lies, scattered, across the floor, spilling out from the filing cabinets stationed against the far wall. Cans of cola and sweet wrappers litter the ground, the small trash can by the desk overflowing with the same. Owen looks at me when he hears me - makes a face, but then returns to his paperwork.

'This place is a fucking mess, Owen. What the hell have you been doing?'

'None of your business.' The reply is swift and curt and sharp, which hurts. But I deserve it, I remind myself, quickly. 'Owen...' I start, only to be cut off by a sudden crash. The man himself is standing, face like thunder, pens and stapler and folders in a heap on the floor from where he's pushed them off in anger.

'What, (Y/N)? What the hell do you want?' He demands, hands curling into fists until his knuckles turn white. 'Do you want to - what, rub your happiness in my face? Do you expect me to say congratulations?'

'There's nothing to congratulate,' I tell him. He laughs, the sound mirthless, almost broken. 'What, no happy tidings to the groom?' He asks bitterly.

In lieu of a response, I hold out my left hand. The empty space on my ring finger makes me feel happy, light. Free. It takes a moment for him to register what I'm saying without speaking - when he understands, he becomes still, face unreadable.

'Wait. You didn't -?' Unable to finish the question, I answer it before he has to.  
'I didn't.'

For a second, time stills - then, Owen is closer than he's ever been before, his hands on my shoulders, heat passing through the light jacket I'm wearing. 'This means ...' he trails off, a second time, his eyes lighting up, both excited, and nervous. I let my fingers rest gently against his wrist.

'It means whatever you want it to mean.'

My back meets the door - the smell of Owen almost overwhelming, musky, heavy, his warmth making me dizzy. 'You came back,' he breathes, eliciting a shiver as his warm breath hits my neck.

Moving my hand from my wrist to his face, he closes his eyes, leans into the touch. His stubble has grown out a little more, rough against my palm. But the skin beneath it is soft and comforting and I nod, even though he can't see. 'I came back for you,' I finally admit, the words like a weight lifting off my chest. Owen opens his eyes - they're darker, now, glinting, a look in them I've seen before.

Time slows in the moments before his lips touch mine; heads tilting and leaning in, a whisper of a moment that stretches out eternally. Kissing Owen transcends anything I've ever experienced before in my life. It's wholly consuming, a fire raging, it's learning how to breathe, how to feel.

**_ It's finally coming home. _ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished this series! Thank you all for sticking with it, hope it's to your satisfaction!


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